


Soul Searching

by Amaranthine_Siren



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaranthine_Siren/pseuds/Amaranthine_Siren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow is still trying to cope with the loss of Tara; Spike has won back his soul and returns to Sunnydale. Will they be able to help each other heal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers in the Night

Willow sighed as she let her clothes slip silently to the carpet. She slid on her soft bathrobe and slowly made her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. It was a relief to have these quiet moments to herself; to be able to just exist and not have to put on an act for the benefit of Buffy and Dawn, and pretend as if she didn't still feel like her world was fading away from her day by day. The Slayer and her sister were no doubt out saving the world... while she barely felt like a part of it anymore. Since Tara's death, she'd become withdrawn, quiet; more like the shy girl of Sunnydale High, whose only friend she'd loved more than anything. Surely, it was Xander's love for her that had saved her, and the world, from total destruction; but when she was alone, at night, she sometimes wished he'd have let her die. Death would have been easier, simpler than living in a world without Tara.

The tile floor was cool on her bare feet as she padded over to the small bathroom window. A cool breeze greeted her as she pushed open the window panes, the small lace curtains fluttering gently for a moment against her cheek. She gazed out over the backyard; the leaves of the trees rustled on their branches, dancing in the wind. Her gaze lifted to the starry night sky, and she exhaled softly. She remembered lying out under those stars, naming them for Tara; remembered the quiet girl's amazement at the redhead's knowledge of them; remembered the serenity and peace she'd felt, lying in Tara's arms.

Abruptly, she tore her gaze away from the sky, and turned back toward the shower. Sliding the black curtain aside, she reached in and turned the tap, feeling the cool water turn warm on her bare arm. She let her other hand run gently over the silky curtain fabric. It had been a gift from Tara; after they'd moved into the house to care for Dawn, it had taken them a while to get comfortable, but about a month after they'd moved in, Tara had given the curtain to Willow as a kind of housewarming present. It was a black and smoke gray curtain, with a pattern of small dragons on it. Willow could still see the smile in Tara's eyes when they'd hung the curtain, and stepped into the shower together behind it for the first time.

She unfastened the tie around her waist and slid off her robe, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door as she stepped into the warm spray. A moment later, her hand snaked back around the edge of the curtain and hit the light switch, dousing the bright lights, so that the only glow in the room came from the small candles she'd placed on the sink.

She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the water envelop her. If she imagined hard enough, it almost felt like the soft, comforting arms of her lover, holding her in a gentle embrace. Leaning into the water, she placed her forehead against the cool tile wall and began to softly sob.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Spike stumbled through the dark streets of Sunnydale, the soles of his black boots nearly worn through. How he'd managed to get back here in one piece was a small miracle; even he wasn't quite sure how he'd done it. His last clear memory was of the bastard demon in the cave in Africa, placing a flaming hand to his chest and granting his "wish" of restoring his soul. The pain of the experience was so intense that he'd lain unconscious for quite some time. When he did awaken, in excruciating pain both mental and physical, and ready to give the demon bastard a thoroughly good ass-kicking, he'd found the cave deserted. In fact, the entire nearby village was a ghost town.

So he'd stumbled across the desert for nights on end, tortured by visions of the past; his new soul's housewarming gift, he supposed. He even saw Angelus and Drusilla before him, taunting him, reminding him of all the wonderfully evil things he'd done, telling him that he need only find some unsuspecting human on which to feed, and that the blood would ease the pain of it all. He was quite sure that before he made it out of the desert, he'd go mad, if he hadn't already.

Yet he traveled on by night, finding small rock outcroppings to hide in or under during the day, until finally reaching a small airport. He'd managed to barter his worn leather duster with the local pilot in exchange for an evening flight as far as he could take him, inwardly struggling not to just rip the man's throat out and end his suffering. But he knew that taking the man's life would only make it worse. Dru danced before his vision, taunting his sensibility.

The nights turned into weeks as he'd traveled slowly across the globe, fighting to get back to the one place he felt he belonged; that is, if he truly belonged anywhere now.

"Damn Slayer..." he growled to himself as he limped down Revello Drive, approaching the familiar house that he hadn't seen in... had it been two months? Seemed like an eternity of pain he'd suffered, all for that stupid bint. Why had it never occurred to him when he'd made his wish, to word it exactly as he'd meant it! All he'd wanted was to get the damn chip out of his head and be the same old William the Bloody, who'd struck fear into the hearts of all Slayers before that damn blonde fluff of a Slayer had come along and turned him into her whipping boy. She needed to get what was coming to her, or so he'd thought. Apparently the Powers That Be had other plans for him, and he was less than thrilled. The pain in his head and his soul was still nearly blinding, but he'd managed to hold it inside of him long enough to get here. All he needed was to get back to his crypt (that is, providing that Clem hadn't decided that he wasn't coming back and appropriated it for himself) and lock himself away until he figured out what the hell was going to happen to him, what the hell he was going to do now.

As he approached the darkened house, he stopped beneath the large tree in the yard and gazed upward. The stars were so bright tonight. Apparently the Summers women weren't at home; the house was dark and quiet. Gazing up at the darkened windows, he felt more alone than he had since he'd left. He sighed. How on earth would he be able to convince any of them that he was changed now, different? Hell, the damn Slayer would probably just stake him out of spite for running off and leaving her like he did. There was no way in hell that she'd ever believe that he had somehow managed to win back his soul.

Hell, inwardly he could feel that the mess of a relationship that he'd had with her had never been right, was never been meant to be; but she seemed to have needed someone who understood how utterly alone you can be, even when surrounded by others. And he'd understood more than she knew. And for a time, they had eased each other's pain, found solace in each other, if only for fleeting moments when they were alone and could forget their pasts and futures and just exist. Even though they'd eventually combusted, as he supposed was meant to happen, he wouldn't trade it. Without her to light the fire beneath him, who knows where he'd be now? Probably traipsing across the globe, still searching to win back Drusilla from whoever her latest interest was; or worse, still shackled to that damn Harmony. He grimaced at the thought of the brash, irritating, shrill bubblehead. Then he smiled slightly. At least she'd looked up to him, respected his age and wisdom in a way that Angelus and Dru never did. Oh well, all blood under the bridge now, he supposed.

Spike wandered slowly around the side of the house to the backyard, glancing up when he noticed the soft flicker of candlelight coming from the open bathroom window. He stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening. The soft steady sound of running water came to him, and muffled sobs. It was the witch, good old Red. What could have happened while he was gone, for her to be in so much pain? He could feel her sadness pouring down from the window to reach him on the ground below, like soft warm raindrops of power falling on him. He closed his eyes and stood motionless, the ache in his chest growing minute by minute.

Suddenly, he began to feel actual drops falling on his upturned face, and he sneaked open one eye to gaze up. He couldn't believe it, but it was actually beginning to rain, a warm summer shower. He smiled and closed his eyes again, letting the gentle drops wash off the sand and dirt that he'd accumulated on his journey, feeling some of his worries and tensions slip away as well. He knew it would be difficult, but he had a feeling he knew at least one of the old gang who'd listen to him, someone he could convince that he had changed.

"I know you're hurting, Red," he whispered to himself in the dark. "Believe me, I know it hurts." He tore his gaze from the open window and stumbled away, off to deal with his own pain.


	2. Keeping Up Appearances

Slowly, Willow came to the realization that the water pouring down on her from the shower head was cold. She stepped back from the spray and reached down to turn off the water, her hands trembling as she turned off the faucets. She slid back the curtain and pulled her robe on over her dripping wet form. Carefully, she stepped out of the shower and made her way to the sink to blow out the candles, not bothering to turn on the lights. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung limp and wet around her face, the red darkened by the water so that it looked like blood. Her lips had a slight bluish hue from the cold water; how long had she been in the shower? At least a half hour, maybe longer. She picked up her hairbrush from the sink and walked to the window to close it.

A dark figure was standing in the yard, face upturned to the rain. Rain? When had it started to rain? It had been a clear night when she'd stepped into the shower. It occurred to her that in her grief, she'd let the magicks slip from her unchecked; she cautioned herself, but wasn't too worried. Since the ordeal with Tara, and Warren, she hadn't the heart to use her powers anymore; it wasn't as if they'd do her any good, so why bother?

She snapped out of her reverie and was surprised to see that the figure she'd spotted had disappeared. A small chill ran down her back. Who could it have been? It had appeared to be watching the window she now stood at, but why hadn't it moved when she'd appeared? Quickly, she pulled the window panes closed and locked the latch, then made her way to the bedroom, checking the windows as she passed them to make sure they were secure. Better to be safe. And besides, Buffy and Dawn should be back soon; she'd ask them if they'd seen anything unusual around the neighborhood on their way home.

Still, she'd felt no sense of menace coming from the figure; rather, it had seemed to be at peace. Willow turned on her bedside lamp and sat down on the bed, running the brush through her damp hair. If only she could know peace...

She started as she heard the front door open downstairs, and her grip tightened on the hairbrush. She could feel the beginnings of her power begin to swirl just beneath the surface of her skin; the dry ends of her hair crackled in the electricity building up around her. If somehow the intruder had gotten into the house...

"Will? Are you home?" Buffy called up the stairs.

Willow sighed with relief; the field around her dispersed as suddenly as it had formed; her grip on her brush loosened. "I just got out of the shower; I'll be down in a sec." She slid on the soft flannel pajama shirt and pants she'd laid on the bed before her shower, and shook her head to let the air dry her hair a bit, then padded down the hall to the stairs.

"Hey, Will," called Dawn from the downstairs hall. "Too bad you didn't come along tonight, there was a seriously time-warped group of vamps that Sis and I had to take out. You shoulda seen these guys, they were totally stuck in the 80's," she giggled.

"Which inspired us to stop on the way home and rent some movies," Buffy chimed in, walking up behind her sister. "What do you want to watch first, 'Sixteen Candles' or 'Pretty in Pink'?"

Willow smiled and started down the steps, inwardly giving a small cringe. "How about you two change into something less... *poof*-dusty - and I'll start on the popcorn?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"You see, there's this guy Jake, and I really like him, and he doesn't even know I exist," Molly Ringwald lamented on the small TV screen in the dark crypt. The light from the screen flickered, casting long shadows over the figure in the worn, comfortable chair.

Clem tossed a handful of Bugles into his mouth, and reached for his bottle of soda. Man, how lucky was he that the local Sunnydale station was airing an 80's teen movie marathon tonight? That Molly Ringwald was really a looker in her day. His eyes moistened slightly as Paul Dooley gave his teen daughter a cheering-up speech, telling her that if that boy Jake couldn't see what a beautiful, special girl she was, then he didn't deserve her anyway. That part got him every time.

Suddenly, the crypt door slammed open. Clem jumped out of the chair, Bugles flying through the air as he reached for the stake sitting atop the television.

"Sorry, pal, no vacancies!" he cried as he spun around, then stopped short as the figure stumbled into the light of the TV.

"Spike? Buddy? Is that you? You're back!" he called out happily, then realized how awful his friend looked. "Are you all right? Can I get you something? Your pad's just as you left it; I've even been keeping a supply of fresh blood in the fridge for when you got back."

The vampire's face was paler than ever as he fell into the chair Clem had vacated, and he nodded with all the strength he could muster. "Yeah..." he croaked. "Sounds good, mate..."

"Right away, pal," Clem answered as he hurried to the fridge and grabbed the most recent bottle he'd stocked, opening it as he made his way back to Spike. "Want me to heat it up for -"

The vampire snatched it out of his hands and brought it to his mouth, gulping it down in three or four swallows, then passing the back of one hand across his lips. "That's better," he muttered, his voice not as shaky as it had been a moment before, but obviously still quavering.

Clem watched in astonishment. "Man, what happened to you?" he asked quietly. "I didn't think I was going to be able to defend this place forever, it's choice property. Where've you been for the last two months?"

Spike gazed at the pretty girl with the short red hair on his television screen, then glanced up to Clem.

"Bring me a refill, mate, and we can swap stories, yeah? I want to know what I've missed while I was away," he replied, his eyes sliding back to the redhead on the screen.


	3. A Dream of You

"So, how was today, Willow? Not too trying, I hope," Giles spoke into the phone.

The warmth and caring she heard touched her heart, and for a moment or two, eased the dull ache within it. He had been the person she'd felt closest to since Tara's death. Having lost his love Jenny to the hands of Angelus, she knew that he was the person most qualified to listen to her, and try to help her. But still, she didn't feel she could confide everything in him; she was sure there was no way he could understand how hollow and empty she felt, how alone... But she was happy to let him try, and his enduring companionship and love for her made her life better, as much as it could.

"It was all right, Giles," she replied. "Lonely, but then, it always is. But talking to you helps." She smiled into the phone, sure he could hear it.

He could tell she was smiling into the receiver, and he answered, "Yes, I know it's lonely, but we're always here to help you, you know."

"I know..." Her voice trailed off.

"What about the magicks? No problems?"

"Well..." She hesitated. "When I went in to take a shower, it was clear and cool outside. But when I came out, it was raining. There wasn't a forecast of rain tonight, was there?"

He'd noticed the short shower of raindrops earlier, but had paid it no mind, until now. The strength of her powers never ceased to amaze him. Surely, he was very adept at the magickal arts, and she had been as well, when she'd first started to practice them. But when she'd joined her strength with Tara, her latent magickal abilities had awakened. Since that time, she'd become the most powerful natural witch he'd ever known.

He held the phone receiver against one shoulder, removing his glasses and polishing them with a nearby handkerchief, knowing she could sense him doing it and that it amused her. "Well, Willow, as you know, with one as strong magickally as yourself, it can be hard to hold such power in check, and it's only natural that it should slip from time to time. And strong emotions do bring about strong magickal repercussions, sometimes even unconsciously." He paused, slipping the glasses back into place. "Were you upset at all? Crying?"

He waited a moment, then heard her softly answer, "Yes."

"I see..." He paused. "Why don't you come 'round tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk over a cup of tea? You should get out of the house for a while anyway." Out of the bedroom where your lover was senselessly murdered, he added in his mind. "All right?"

"That sounds good, I think I will." She stifled a small yawn. "I think I'm going to go to bed now, I'll see you tomorrow, Giles. Good night."

"Good night, Willow," he answered softly, and replaced the phone receiver on its cradle, rubbing his forehead with one hand, memories of his own lost love flashing through his mind. Granted, he knew that he couldn't completely sympathize with her situation - after all, when Angelus had killed Jenny, he hadn't torn the flesh from the vampire's body, or tried to destroy the entire world in his grief - but he still felt as if he could be there for her, to talk to, and be with, just for comfort's sake.

He stood up from the desk and stretched his arms above his head. He was glad that when he'd moved back to London, Anya had convinced him to keep a bank account open here in Sunnydale, and that she'd continued to make the rental payments on his flat. It wouldn't have been right to go back to England just yet, not after all that had happened.

Of course, The Slayer and her sister were fighting side by side now, and he was glad of it. And Anya and Xander were gently easing back into a tentative relationship... all in all, the group seemed to be managing rather well, and didn't really need him, he supposed. But Willow still needed him, and so he'd stayed on, watching over her and protecting her, listening to her when she needed a sympathetic ear.

He made his way into the kitchen and poured a small glass of bourbon, carrying it back with him to the living room. It helped if he didn't dwell on thoughts of lovers past, else it would be too painful for him to be here, in this flat, where he'd found her, cold and stiff, lying upon his bed... He quickly swallowed the mouthful of bourbon, feeling its warmth course down his throat.

There was something on the horizon for Willow, he could sense it. Soon, she would be ready to live again; and he could be away from here, and rejoin his life as well. Shutting off the lamp beside him, he stood and made his way slowly up the stairs to the bedroom, muttering a prayer under his breath for his lost love.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Dear Lord God, be gracious unto me, and sanctify my soul, for am I yet not prepared to die?"

She lay nearly asleep, her head resting on his chest, his left arm wrapped around her. Her left hand lay on his stomach, rubbing back and forth slowly against his black tee shirt in a comforting rhythm. Just as she'd drifted off, she felt his right hand come up and cup her chin, lifting her head to his. Her eyes still closed, she heard him very softly singing:

_I saw..._  
_Kissing you..._  
_Rising to bloom like the flower in June_  
_I saw..._  
_Kissing you..._  
_Like the moon in the sky up above_

As he finished the last line, he very gently pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Willow could still feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek, the press of his lips against hers. She smiled, and opened her eyes, then sat up in her bed, eyes wide. There was no one here. But it had felt so real. She pressed one hand to her lips, puzzled. Who could she have possibly dreamt about? She felt sad that she'd awakened; in the dream, she'd felt so safe, so loved. Sighing, she lay back down and hugged her pillow, trying in vain to return to sleep and the comforting dream...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Spike merely sat silently as Clem recounted the events of the last two months, as much as he knew of them at least. The only source of information he'd had was the young girl, the Slayer's sister, who'd stopped by every other week or so, hoping that the vampire had returned. Every time she came, and found that he hadn't, she'd felt obliged to spend some time with Clem and keep him company for a while.

When he'd finished telling of Warren's attack, leaving Buffy wounded and Tara dead, and of Willow's dark magickal transformation and vengeance upon him, Spike took another sip of the bottle of blood he was clutching tightly, then asked huskily, "So you're telling me that Willow - meek, quiet, shy bookish type - nearly destroyed the world? And I missed it?! Bloody hell!"

Clem smiled. "Yeah, it was touch and go there for a while, but as usual, the Slayer and her friends came through and saved the day. Haven't seen much of the witch since then, come to think of it. From what I gathered from Dawn, she's been pretty withdrawn. Guess almost obliterating the planet takes a lot out of you, eh?"

Spike let out a low laugh, his thoughts racing. That would explain why she'd been in such pain, why he'd been able to feel it a mile off. The poor girl had been through hell, literally. And now she was completely alone. Hell, he knew what that was like, right enough. His heart ached for her, poor thing.

Suddenly, he started. He'd heard Drusilla's teasing laughter coming from the dark shadows opposite him. Glaring, he exploded out of the chair, his eyes blazing, frantically searching the crypt, screaming, "Let me alone, you harpy! Just leave me in peace, damn you!"

Clem drew back in fear of the vampire's rage. What on earth was going on with him? "Uh, Spike? There's nobody hear but us two, buddy. You all right?"

Spike stopped, turning to the demon. "Not exactly, mate. I've been through a change in the last few weeks. You see, I sought out a powerful demon, and fought long and hard, trying to become my old self again, trying," he growled, "to get this damn chip out of my head, so I could give the Slayer what was coming to her. But it seems I got a bit more than I bargained for. Just for laughs, the bastard decided to restore my soul instead. Is that a cosmic joke or what? And now, I think I'm losing what little sanity I have left, so if you could kindly get out... GET OUT!" he roared, causing Clem to shrink back toward the door.

"OK, Spike, I can see that you're a bit upset, so -" He cut off as an empty bottle whizzed by his head, exploding on the wall behind him. "I'll just come around in a few days and check on you, all right pal?" He turned and ran out the door, slamming it behind him as another bottle hit it, exploding in a spray of red on the stone face.

Ripping open the door of the small fridge, he pulled out all the bottles he could manage to hold, and began to pour them all down his throat one after the other. "There, how's that? Will that shut you up, damn bitch?!" he cried between swallows, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "How do you like that?! I'll drown you, you evil wench!"

When the last bottle was emptied, he stopped and listened, his arms shaking in fury and exhaustion. He heard nothing but the stillness of the crypt around him, the slow drip of blood droplets falling from the neck of an overturned bottle onto the stone floor. Sighing, he stumbled down into his rooms below and collapsed on his bed, not bothering to remove the blood drenched black shirt or jeans he wore, stopping only for a second to kick off his worn boots before throwing the silk sheet over himself and falling into a dead slumber.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

She lay nearly asleep, her head resting on his chest, his left arm wrapped around her. Her left hand lay on his stomach, rubbing back and forth slowly against his black tee shirt in a comforting rhythm. Just as she'd drifted off, he reached down with his right hand and cupped her chin, lifting her head to his. Her eyes still closed, he sang softly:

_I saw..._  
_Kissing you..._  
_Rising to bloom like the flower in June_  
_I saw..._  
_Kissing you..._  
_Like the moon in the sky up above..._

As he finished the last line, he very gently pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

"Dear Lord God, be gracious unto me, and sanctify my soul, for am I yet not prepared to die?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Dear Lord God, be gracious unto me, and sanctify my soul, for am I yet not prepared to die?!" he cried out, sitting straight up in bed. He looked around and saw no one. What the bloody hell was that? He was at a loss to explain the words he'd screamed, and the rest of the dream seemed to evaporate from his memory as he tried to think of it. Shivering at the cold chill of the air in his bedroom, he hugged his pillow and tried in vain to return to the welcome silent death of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know the whole dream thing is bizarre (at least, it might seem that way to anyone else reading this who's not me) but I dreamt it, and it had such a profound effect on me that I wrote it down immediately. So that's where the song and the voice-over/Spike's cry came from, word for word.


	4. You Are My Sunshine

When Willow awoke the following morning, she had only a vague recollection of the strange dream she'd had during the night, but the comfort it had brought her still warmed her heart, and she felt better than she had in weeks as she got dressed. She had a small breakfast with Dawn before sending her off to school, chatting in hushed tones so as not to wake her sister, who was still upstairs in bed. She left a note on the kitchen counter for Buffy, explaining her plans for the day, and seeing what a clear sunny day it was outside, decided to walk to Giles' apartment.

They spent the better part of the day talking and looking over some new magickal texts that Giles had brought with him from London. He seemed happy to find that she was keeping rather good control of her powers (excepting the incident the previous night), since taking his suggestion that perhaps using them from time to time in small doses would keep them from building up within her and subsequently leaking out at inappropriate moments. She'd found that making talismans and amulets - enchanting crystals and gems with protection spells, or healing powers - was very soothing to her; every time she made one, she felt as if she were closer to Tara somehow, as if Tara was watching over her. Plus, she was able to give them to Anya for sale at the Magic Box, and make some money so that she didn't feel as if she were just living under the Summers' roof and not contributing to the household at all.

She also mentioned the intruder she'd noticed the night before. Giles thought it over. "Well, the house is very well protected, magickally speaking, so you needn't worry about that, I suppose. And as for vampires, the only ones with an invitation to enter are Angel and-" He stopped short of mentioning Spike's name, remembering that after Buffy had told them of Spike's attacking her, they'd revoked his invitation; not that it mattered much, as he'd disappeared soon afterward anyway. Hastily, he continued without admitting his mistake: "-and surely he wouldn't be lurking about if he were in town for any reason. Still, we could call and ask."

"No, that's all right, Giles. I'm sure I would have recognized him if it was Angel, and there's no need to bother them. I'm sure they've got their hands full with other business, no need to worry them."

As the afternoon progressed, Willow realized that she should get back to the house soon; Dawn would be getting home from school in no time. Maybe they could have dinner ready for Buffy when she got home from work. When she stood to leave, she surprised Giles (and herself) by stepping over to him and wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. After a split second of indecision, he closed his arms tightly around her and returned the embrace, one hand stroking her hair gently. She sighed happily, her cheek pressed against his warm chest. "Thank you, Giles," she murmured.

He held her a moment longer, then loosened the embrace enough to tilt her head up and give her a fatherly kiss on the forehead, smiling. "Of course, Willow. I'm always here for you, you need only ask." He patted her cheek, and followed her to the door. "Shall I run you home, then?"

"No, that's all right, Giles. It's so nice out today, I'll walk," she answered, adjusting the strap of the backpack over her shoulder. Then a thought occurred to her. "On second thought, if you don't have any plans tonight, how about joining us for dinner? I think between you, Dawn, and I, we could make up something special for Buffy, to surprise her when she gets home?"

Giles held his surprise in check; he hadn't seen Willow so cheerful in months; what could have caused such a sudden turnaround from the girl who'd been so upset just the night before? "Why, of course, Willow, that would be lovely. Just let me go change -" he replied, indicating his blue cotton shirt and jeans.

Willow cut him off before he could finish. "Oh, honestly, Giles, you look fine. I find it comforting to know that not every item in your wardrobe has leather patches at the elbows," she giggled.

Giles smiled in return. "All right, let me just get my keys, and we'll be off." Willow stepped out to the courtyard as he turned back to the desk to get his key ring, and he could swear he heard her humming a little tune to herself.

"Will wonders never cease?" he murmured under his breath.

"Hmmm? Did you say something?" Willow asked as he stepped out the door.

"Oh, no, nothing," he replied, smiling to himself as they walked to the car.

When they arrived to the home on Revello Drive, they found Dawn's backpack hanging over the end of the banister. "She must be home from school already. I'll go and get her, Giles; make yourself at home," Willow said as she went upstairs in search of the younger girl.

She stuck her head in Dawn's door on her way down the hall, but the room was empty. Continuing on, she heard a rustling noise coming from the master bedroom. Quietly approaching, she peeked into the room and saw the hunched back of the girl, bent over a cardboard box, rummaging through its contents.

"Looking for something?" she shot out, sounding much more indignant than she'd intended.

The girl's head flew up, turning toward the door. "W-Will, I... I was just... It's just that... I was talking with Janice about books and stuff, and I remembered that Tara had said she had a copy of 'The Lord of the Rings' that she would give me if I wanted to read it, and I was just looking for it, that's all-" she stuttered nervously, a mask of guilt on her face.

Immediately Willow felt sorry for being so harsh with her. "It's ok, Dawn. It's just... I'll find it for you. Giles is downstairs in the kitchen; why don't you go help him, see if you two can figure out something special we can make for dinner tonight for Buffy, ok?"

Dawn nodded, moving cautiously toward the door. As she passed the redhead, Willow reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "It's ok, Dawn; don't worry about it. Just, ask next time before you start going through other people's things, all right?" she said softly. Dawn nodded, looking a bit more relieved as she started down the stairs.

Willow made her way to the box, recognizing it as one of the cartons she'd used to pack the personal items she'd taken from Tara's dorm room after... Tara's family had come to claim her body, and taken her home with them, but before they'd arrived, Willow and Buffy went to Stevenson Hall and packed all the more personal (and magickal) items of Tara's, so that they could avoid a confrontation with Tara's family members. Although they needn't have bothered. No one from Tara's family made any attempt to contact them while in Sunnydale. They'd merely come, claimed her body and few personal belongings, and returned home.

Sitting down on the floor next to the box, Willow began carefully removing the items, setting them in neat piles around herself. She paused when she came across a small photo of Tara and herself, holding their kitten, Miss Kitty Fantastico. She traced her index finger along Tara's cheek and sighed. Miss Kitty had gone with Tara, she assumed, when she'd moved out of the Summers house; but after Tara's death, she was nowhere to be found, which saddened Willow, who'd hoped to bring her home. Willow carefully placed the photo aside; she would put it in a small frame, she decided, and place it on her bedside table, next to the small framed photo of Tara that was there now.

Sighing, she resumed her search. Here was the book that Dawn had been looking for. Bound in red leather, the spine listed the book's title and author in worn gold leaf. Opening the front cover, Willow was surprised to find an inscription on the inside, in Tara's small, neat and curvish hand:

_To Dawn, May it bring you as much joy as you've brought me. Your friend always, Tara_

Willow's eyes moistened slightly as she closed the cover carefully and slipped the book back into its leather sleeve. Dawn would be overcome with emotion to see such a precious gift from her lost friend. She was happy she'd found it for her.

While placing the other items back into the carton, Willow spied a small brown box under some papers. Pushing them aside, she lifted the small cube from its hiding place and was surprised to see a small note pinned to its lid, bearing her name in the same handwriting. Her hands trembling, she removed the parchment and unfolded it, her eyes overflowing with tears as she read its words:

_Willow,_

_I'm sorry, I should have given this to you sooner, but I assumed I'd eventually have a chance to deliver it to you personally. If you're reading this note, then obviously I didn't. I've hidden this away in my room until I see you again, but if you have it, then... then that means I'm gone._

_I love you, Willow. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to say that to you again. I don't know if things will ever be the same for us, ever be as they once were, but I will never stop loving you. You're a part of my soul now, and as long as I live, I'll always be yours._

_Now, to the contents of this box. I started work on this while we were together, but I didn't finish it until... after. You remember that spell we were working on, for artificial sunlight, for Buffy to use? Well, I was able to modify it. You'll see when you open the box. Just think of it as a way for me to always protect you._

_Please, Willow, if I'm gone... don't let yourself fade away. You are a beautiful, burning flame, and my love will always burn inside you. Stay strong for me, and we'll be together again..._

_Yours, always,_

_Tara_

Nearly blinded by her tears, Willow pulled the string from around the box and removed the lid. Nestled inside was a long silver chain, with what appeared to be a silver teardrop pendant suspended from it. Lifting it from the box to look at it more closely, she saw that it was in fact a glass vial, shimmering with a metallic glow. Inside the glass, a metallic golden solution swirled, with a dark red sphere floating within it. Willow instinctively realized that the red droplet was Tara's own blood, used to bind the spell. The front of the vial was painted with a very small design, a teardrop whose point fanned upward into small licks of flame, painted gold and red, the bottom of the tear swirled in a yin-yang design, half red, half gold. On the back of the vial was painted in black a small cluster of swirls, which Willow was eventually able to decipher as being hers and Tara's initials, W.R. and T.M., entwined together.

The chain of the necklace was wrapped around a small scroll of parchment, which Willow unrolled and read. The Latin words translated to describe the workings of the spell to her, and its words of activation: "Love, Light My Way".

Carefully, she slipped the chain over her head and let the pendant fall against her chest; it hung just above the curve of her bosom. The glass teardrop was cool to the touch of her skin for a mere second, but began to warm almost immediately. She could feel the warmth emanating from within it, flowing into her and filling her with its heat. Her eyes fell closed, and her moist lips parted slightly; the power of the magick contained within the talisman coursed through her veins; her blood felt as if it were beginning to boil...

"Willow? Are you all right?" Giles called up the stairs to her.

Her eyes snapped open, and she hurriedly removed the necklace, placing it gently into her pocket. "Yes, I - I'll be down in a second, I was looking for something," she called back to him as she quickly replaced the contents of the carton and returned it to her closet. Carrying the book with her, she trotted down the hall to the top of the stairs, to find Giles gazing up at her, a small worried frown creasing his forehead.

Showing the book to him as she descended, she said, "I found it, don't worry." His frown melted away and he smiled at her. She returned the look warmly, smiling inwardly as well. _Yes, I found it,_ she thought...

_...now all I have to do is use it..._

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

After a rather restless morning of tossing and turning, Spike had fallen into a troubled sleep during the afternoon, his thoughts still haunted by the dream he'd awoken from. His mind churned with questions and troubles when suddenly he realized that he could feel a small, rough tongue licking gently at his cheek. Holding perfectly still, he slowly inched one eye open and peeked out.

The black cat's head bobbed up and down as she cleaned his face and neck of the dried blood left from the previous night's activities. Smiling inwardly, he closed his eye again and left her continue; it was nice to be taken care of every once in a while, even by a feline. When she had finished, she purred softly and he opened his eyes, reaching up slowly to stroke the top of her head. She mewled lovingly and jumped off the bed, circling around restlessly at the side of it as Spike sat up slowly and stretched. His blood caked shirt crackled and creaked, and he cringed. "Best get a change of wardrobe this morning, I suppose," he spoke to the cat and peeled off the hardened shirt, tossing it into the corner and idly scratching an itch near his navel. Flexing one leg, then the other, he realized the jeans were just as bad and so discarded them as well.

As he padded nude across the room to his small wardrobe, the cat gave a saucy meow. Grinning, he called out, "Thanks, pet, you're not so bad yourself," laughing as he pulled on another pair of worn black jeans, and slipped into a dark blue long sleeved shirt, not bothering to fasten the buttons.

He turned to find the cat pacing restlessly at the foot of the stairs. "Hungry, pet? Let's see if Clem's left us any breakfast, love." The cat meowed happily in response and bounded up the stairs before him.

He cringed at the state of the upper level of the crypt; he hadn't realized the extent of the damage he'd caused the night before. _Oh well, I'll straighten up later._ He pulled open the door of the small refrigerator and removed a small open tin of cat food. "Hmm, looks as if Clem's been taking care of you while I was gone, wasn't that nice of him?" he murmured, stroking the cat's neck as he placed the tin before her. She pounced on it, nibbling at it appreciatively and purring.

The cat had started coming to him a few months ago, visiting for a night or two and then leaving again. He knew, of course, whose pet she truly was, but now he supposed she might be without a true home, especially if Clem had been caring for her. "Surprised he hasn't eaten you or gambled you away yet, love," he murmured to her. "Maybe he was fattening you up to make a better meal first, eh?" The cat hissed in response, and Spike laughed out loud. Honestly, he was surprised to see that she was still here, but glad. Maybe he'd take her back to Willow tonight; anyway, it would give him an excuse to see her and maybe begin to explain what was happening to him.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, isn't it, love? Would you like to go home?" he asked. Miss Kitty lifted her head from her meal, "Meow?" He fancied that he could see the hopeful look in her eyes. _Oh, you've really lost it now, Spike... really gone soft..._ "All right, Kat, we'll take you home, but there's one bit of business I've got to attend to first..."

Downstairs, he opened a drawer of the small writing desk that was wedged into one corner of his bedroom, and removed a pen and a small square of parchment paper, and his old wire-rimmed reading glasses. Balancing them gently on his nose, he perched on the small stool and chewed on the end of the pen, thinking. After a few moments, he sighed in resignation and jotted a couple of words on the paper, signing his name in the lower right hand corner and folding it over once, then again. Placing the folded note in his pocket, he reached down to pull his boots on, stopping when he saw the worn-through soles and torn skins of them. Sighing, he chucked them into the corner with his bloodied clothes, and reached into his wardrobe, removing another identical pair that were in considerably better condition. He laced them tightly and returned to his friend upstairs.

"All right, Kat, time to go home." The cat finished grooming her face with her wet paw and ran to him, leaping gracefully into his waiting open arms. He cuddled her under his chin for a moment, then started out the door into the night.


	5. Ray of Light

When Buffy arrived home that evening, she was indeed surprised; surprised to find Giles over for dinner, something that had rarely happened since he'd been back; and equally surprised to find a disaster area in the kitchen. Apparently the three of them had thought they could whip up some Chinese food for Buffy. The result was a flour-dusted, giggling Dawn, a fairly beaming Giles, and Willow simply laughing out loud, which shocked Buffy, who couldn't remember when she'd heard her friend laugh in recent memory, when it didn't sound harsh or forced; and a kitchen covered in a fine dust of flour, a counter top littered with broken eggshells, and a lovely blackened scorch mark on the ceiling above the stove. But all in all, Buffy was in fair spirits, as there was a lovely buffet of Chinese food cartons from her favorite take-out restaurant spread across the dining room table for her when she got home.

They ate and chatted merrily; though to Buffy, Willow seemed a bit preoccupied. Confirming that fact, she excused herself from the table as soon as she finished her meal and went into the den. Buffy had just arisen from her chair to follow when Willow reappeared in the doorway, her hands held behind her back.

"Dawn?" she called softly. The girl looked up smiling, then a momentary flash of worry crossed her face.

"Y-yes...?"

Willow brought her hands from behind her back, holding out the book to her. "This is for you..."

Dawn slowly rose and crossed the room, reaching out and tenderly taking the book from Willow's hands.

"Go ahead, look at it," Willow murmured.

Dawn slid the book from its leather sleeve, and gently opened the cover. As her eyes traced across the page, reading Tara's words, they filled with tears. Carefully, she closed the book and replaced it in its sleeve, then hugged Willow tightly, the volume pressed awkwardly between them.

"Oh...oh, Willow," she sobbed, "Thank you so much... I'm so - so sorry."

"Shhhhh," whispered Willow. "It's ok, she wanted you to have it, and now it's yours. Take good care of it, and I'm sure she'll be very proud of you."

Dawn nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm going to go put it in my room," she called to them as she climbed the stairs, reverently clutching the book to her chest.

Willow watched her go, then turned back to the others, who were both smiling at her. "Do you need my help to clean up the mess in the kitchen?" she asked, cringing at the thought of it.

"No, that's ok, Will, I think Giles and Dawn and I can get it," Buffy replied, smiling at Giles' sigh; _guess he thought he'd be able to make an escape before the cleaning started_ , she thought to herself. "Why, did you have plans?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, no, not really. I just thought I'd go for a walk, it's been so nice these last few nights," she replied, unconsciously placing her hand in her pocket and feeling the warm talisman still faintly pulsating with life within it.

Buffy frowned a bit; why on earth would anyone want to walk, alone, at night, in Sunnydale? But she forced herself to stay calm; after all, Willow seemed to be feeling so much better, and besides, she could more than take care of herself, as they all knew. She smiled at Willow. "Sure, Will, go ahead. We'll just clean up here and then I'm off to bed, I'm exhausted." Then she realized she hadn't patrolled tonight, and sighed. "Or, on second thought, guess I have to patrol."

"No, that's all right, Buff, you deserve a night off. I'll keep an eye out, and if I see anything suspicious, I'll get you or Xander and Anya. Just relax and take a rest," she replied, hoping against hope that Buffy wouldn't insist on coming with her. How could she try out the necklace with her along? She'd never let anyone get close enough for Willow to test it!

Buffy sighed with relief. "Thanks, Will, that's awesome. Are you sure?"

"Sure, it's no big deal; it's a nice night for patrolling anyway."

"All right then. Come on, let's get started, Giles." He groaned in reply, and began to gather the empty cartons into his arms as Buffy did the same, chuckling.

Willow jogged upstairs and pulled off her clothes to change, since they were still spotted with flour and bits of dried egg. Unconsciously, she reached into her closet and pulled out the white shirt she'd been wearing that day. It still had small brown dots of blood stained on it in places; they'd never washed out, and she hadn't really tried to get them out anyway. She pulled it on over her head, and pulled on a pair of black jeans and black hiking boots. Running a brush through her hair, she glanced in the mirror. The small dark spots were noticeable. she reached into the closet again and removed a black messenger-style bag, filled with stakes and crosses and other patrolling supplies, and crossed the strap over her head and across her chest, so that the bag rested against her abdomen, effectively hiding the worst of the spots so that the others wouldn't notice them, should they happen to see her on her way out.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the chain and slipped it around her neck, the talisman sliding beneath the white cotton of her shirt to rest on her skin, its warmth filling her again. Smiling, she bounced back down the stairs and listened a moment to the sounds of the Summers sisters and the Watcher laughing, water splashing from the faucet into the sink, pans clanking together as they cleaned... the sounds of a happy home. She quietly closed the front door behind her, locking it and checking to make sure she had her keys.

"All right. Here we go."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The vampire, his black clothing blending into the shadows of the graveyard, couldn't believe his luck. Entering the gates of the cemetery before him was the red-haired witch, the Slayer's best friend. And ALONE, no less! He stalked toward her, keeping to the darkness, avoiding the small patches of moonlight along his path. He'd be upon her in a second and she'd never know what hit her!

The moon passed behind a large cloud bank, and still darkness fell over the graves; not even the wind was blowing. He could still see her perfectly, of course, and she was coming his direction, moving purposefully.

She stopped a few feet short of him and peered into the darkness. He felt nervous for a moment; it was as if she could see him there. He held still as a statue, waiting to see what she would do.

She removed the large black bag from around her neck and tossed it a few feet away from her, where it came to rest against a tombstone, a few stakes and crosses falling from its open mouth. What was this trickery, he wondered? He'd heard tales that the witch had a death wish, and wanted only to join her lost lover in eternity. Well, he could certainly oblige, if that's what she wanted!

He stepped into her path, expecting her to jump or scream. She did neither, but merely tilted her head back an inch or so, her red hair falling away to expose her smooth pale neck and the pulse that beat beneath it.

"Ah..." he growled as he stalked toward her, his fangs protruding from his lips. "It's not every day that you find one who welcomes Death. Are you prepared to meet your Maker?"

He reached out and grasped her shoulders, rearing back to strike...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Spike exited his crypt and wandered slowly between the graves, enjoying the stillness and quiet of the night air. Miss Kitty purred happily and nuzzled under his chin. He gently stroked her as he walked, humming a tune to himself. Deep in his mind, he realized that the music was the same as he'd heard in his dream the night before. How odd. Fe wished he could remember it; the fact that he couldn't unsettled him.

Suddenly he halted, and his vampiric features slid over his face as he listened. He could hear voices, very faint, coming from ahead. He peered into the darkness and could just make out two figures a few feet away. Sliding into the doorway of the nearest crypt, he watched and listened.

The girl removed the large black bag from around her neck and tossed it a few feet away from her, where it came to rest against a tombstone, a few stakes and crosses falling from its open mouth. What was this? Spike focused his gaze on her and could make out the dark red tresses, the pale white skin... it was Willow!

The vampire stepped into her path, expecting her to jump or scream. She did neither, but merely tilted her head back an inch or so, her red hair falling away to expose her smooth pale neck and the pulse that beat beneath it.

"Ah..." the fiend growled as he stalked toward her, his fangs protruding from his lips. "It's not every day that you find one who welcomes Death. Are you prepared to meet your Maker?"

He reached out and grasped her shoulders, rearing back to strike...

Spike began to race toward them, intent on saving Willow from destroying herself, but had only gotten a few steps from his hiding place before he stopped in his tracks. The wind had begun to pick up, swirling around Willow at an ever increasing speed. Her attacker stopped in his descent toward her throat and backed away a step, worried.

"No, not just yet," Willow replied softly, menacingly, "but tell her 'Hello' for me."

Spike could see the small ties at the neck of Willow's shirt had fallen open, and a small glowing orb hung from a chain around her throat. He could hear her voice mumbling in Latin, growing steadily louder as the glow increased. The pupils of her eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire; wisps of red hair licked her forehead and cheeks like flame, the air around her shimmered with heat.

Realizing what she meant to do, he dived headlong through the crypt doorway, Miss Kitty leaping out of his arms to safety as he fell into the shadows. Willow's voice was shrieking out in the darkness now, calling out, "LOVE, LIGHT MY WAY!" in Latin, over and over again. Spike risked a quick peek through one of the barred windows, then curled up into a ball in the corner, praying that he'd be safe -

Willow suddenly threw her arms above her head, and a large ball of fire, a miniature sun, blossomed in the air between her hands. Her attacker screamed in agony as his body exploded in a cloud of dust. Exhausted from the effort, she instantly fell to her knees, breathing heavily, sweat pouring down her face from the heat, tendrils of hair clinging to her face.

Spike risked opening one eye during the climax, and had seen the crypt around him flooded in sunlight, streaming in through the small windows. Luckily he'd picked a corner where he was in a small bit of shadow - he was incredulous. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. It had been nearly 200 years since he'd seen a sunset or sunrise, but Willow, in the moment he'd gazed at her before hiding, had looked as if she were the living embodiment of one. A pair of tears coursed down his cheeks; it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Meow?" he heard Miss Kitty call from a nearby corner.

"It's all right, love, it's over now," he whispered, patting his thigh. She pounced over to him, purring. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the note he'd written earlier, and gently slipped it under the cat's collar. She watched him do so, and seemed to nod once in understanding. Licking his hand gently, she meowed softly again, and then jumped from his lap, exiting the crypt and heading for her master.

Spike watched from the shadows, a small smile on his lips. "So long, Kat. Maybe I'll see you again sometime," he whispered.

Willow couldn't believe what she'd just done. It was amazing! That so much power could be contained in such a small thing. She would have to make one for Buffy, and Dawn; even they would be able to use it, without having any natural magickal abilities. Of course, she'd have to change the incantation a bit. Her mind raced at the possibilities. She was removing the pendant from around her neck and replacing it in her pocket when she heard a small "Meow?" coming from her right. She whipped her head around and cried out, "Miss Kitty?!"

The cat raced to her and began to rub against her chest, as Willow wrapped her arms around her tightly and sobbed. "Oh, baby, I thought I'd never see you again! Where have you been?" The cat purred and meowed softly as Willow petted and stroked her.

Willow felt a small piece of paper wedged under Miss Kitty's collar. "What's this?" she wondered aloud, removing it and peering at it in the darkness.

The front of the note said "Willow" in a dark, firm script. She frowned as she opened the note. Who...?

The inside read simply, "I'm sorry", and at the bottom right corner was signed, "William."

Willow instantly jerked her head up, scanning the darkness for any sign of the author. A tremor of fear passed through her, her mind not making the connection at first. After a few moments, her eyes drifted slowly down to the black cat, gazing up at her inquisitively, and then to the parchment in her hand, and then her thoughts returned to the figure she'd seen outside her window the night before.

William? No. It wasn't possible... was it? "Spike?" she whispered to herself.

Spike saw her mind working, and decided this might be an appropriate time to make his exit; he wasn't sure he was ready for this, not yet. As he walked away into the night, he called out to her, as an afterthought,

"See ya around, Red."

Her head flew up again, searching the shadows for the sound of the voice, but he was long gone. How on earth? How could he know about Tara; he'd already left before she...

How would she ever explain to the others? After what he'd done, or tried to do, to the Slayer, if the gang discovered he'd returned, they wouldn't rest in hunting him down, she was almost certain of it. But her thoughts returned to the signature on the note. William? Her mind worked furiously, then it came to her. Almost instantly she discarded the idea. There was no way - was there? But she could think of no other explanation. She would have to tell Buffy what had happened, and Giles, and see what they thought. But how could she ever begin to convince any of them (except maybe Dawn) that it was even possible, let alone actually happening?

She had an idea; gently she creased the note he'd given her, and tore it in two, folding the half with her name written on it and placing it in her pocket. The other half she folded over again. Standing up, she reached over and picked up her bag, feeling within it for a black ink pen.

"Meow?" Miss Kitty asked, circling around Willow's ankles and gazing upward.

Willow studied Spike's writing for a moment, then scribbled a large "B" on the cover of the note. Not bad, she'd probably buy it. Willow sighed. It was a start, anyway. it would smooth things over until she could figure out how, and why. She started for home, Miss Kitty following loyally, her mind a tangle of questions with no answers... yet.


	6. Magick, Memories and Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains flashbacks of Spike's attack on Buffy in season 6, from Spike's POV; if that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but you have been warned.

Willow slowly turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Miss Kitty flew past her into the house and up the stairs in silence. Willow turned and gently closed and locked the door behind her.

The living room was in shadow. She could barely make out Buffy's form on the couch, curled under a blanket. Willow tiptoed toward the stairs, trying not to awaken her.

"Will...?" the girl called quietly, not sounding at all as if she'd been sleeping. "It's late, are you ok? Did anything-"

"No, I'm fine. You didn't have to wait up for me," Willow replied, turning and entering the living room where Buffy was moving over on the couch to make room for her to sit. As she did, she reached into her pocket for the note, then paused.

Noticing her movements, Buffy searched her friend's eyes for a clue. After a moment's silence, she asked, "What is it?"

Willow looked up into the girl's blue eyes, wondering if this was such a good idea. "Well, I- I was patrolling in the cemetery, and I dusted this vamp-"

"You did?" Buffy seemed surprised; the redhead didn't look at all as if she'd been fighting. On the contrary, her cheeks seemed to glow with an inner warmth and her eyes glistened. She looked more like she'd just come from a midnight rendezvous with a lover than... Buffy stopped that thought in its tracks and switched topics in her mind. "How? I mean- I know you're perfectly capable of- But you don't look as if you've been fighting, no poof-dust; not a hair out of place-"

The talisman! Willow had almost forgotten in all the post-dusting excitement. "Well, actually, I found something of -" She paused, her eyes now moist with unshed tears. "Something that Tara left for me." She reached into her pocket and extracted the necklace, holding it up between them, the metal glistening in the faint moonlight falling through the window.

"Is it... magickal?" Buffy asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer but feeling the need to ask anyway. She was still unsure of Willow's ability to reign in her magicks once unleashed, but she knew she should trust her friend.

"Yes, it's a talisman; it's pretty amazing." Willow paused for a moment; surely the Slayer would have enough inherent magickal ability to use the talisman even in this form; Willow had been thinking about it on the walk home and had realized that it hadn't really drained her powers very much, she'd just been able to channel more power through it than most would, and it had in fact left her feeling renewed, like a weight had been taken away that had been pressing down on her. Pent-up magickal power, just needing an avenue of release.

Her eyes returned to the Slayer's watchful ones. "Actually, do you want to see what it does?"

Buffy looked doubtful and a bit worried. "Do you think I could? I mean, I'm no witch; and would it be safe? I'm not sure-"

"Buffy," Willow whispered softly, silencing her, and slipped the chain around the Slayer's neck. "Trust me. Just close your eyes, and concentrate, and when you're ready, say 'Love, Light My Way'."

Buffy still looked dubious, but she closed her eyes and tried to focus her thoughts on the glass orb hanging between her breasts. The glass seemed to have warmed to her skin very quickly, it felt as if it were pulsing there, in rhythm with her heartbeat. She felt Willow take her hand and place it out in front of them, palm upturned.

"Open your eyes." Buffy obeyed. "Now, say the words," Willow whispered.

"Love... light my way," the blonde whispered.

A faint golden glow began to light the room, hanging in the air almost like a fog. Slowly the wisps of energy began to float together into a small sphere, swirls of light spiraling around each other until they had formed a glowing ball of flame above Buffy's outstretched palm.

The Slayer gasped. "Willow! It's - it's amazing. Am I doing that? It's so beautiful..." In her excitement, her concentration slipped and the golden sphere's glow began to dim, fading until it had dissipated completely. Still, Buffy was in awe. To think that even she could do something like that.

"Isn't it wonderful? I'm going to make one for all of you, especially Dawn. She'll be able to wear it to the school, even to the Bronze, and everyone will think it's just a cool necklace, and that way she'll always be protected." A single tear spilled down her cheek, and she wiped it away, looking down into her lap. "It's what she would want. She loved Dawn so much, like a mother would. And now she can still protect her, even though she's..." Her voice faded off as more tears fell. She felt Buffy's warm hands wipe the tears from her cheeks, and she fell into her friend's arms.

Buffy held her for a moment, then pulled back and removed the chain from around her neck, placing it into Willow's hands and folding them closed around it. "It's been a long night for us both, how about we go to bed? We can tell Dawn the good news in the morning, ok?"

The good news... Willow's mind returned to the note as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

Willow looked into her friend's eyes and her stomach turned. How could she possibly tell her what she thought might be happening? "When I was patrolling, I was in the area of... well, I went by the crypt, and I found this." She spilled out the lie quickly as she removed the note from her pocket and held it out, her hand shaking.

Buffy reached for the paper and saw the "B" scrawled across the front. Her gut tightened as she unfolded the note.

_"I'm sorry. William."_

Her eyes shot back to Willow's. "You went to his crypt? Are you crazy?! What if he'd been there?" _What if he HAD been there?_ Buffy's memory burned with the thought of their last encounter, and she longed for the feel of a stake in her palm so she could go hunting. But then her eyes returned to the paper, the flowing handwriting... How could he be sorry for what he'd done to her? Was he just using her own words against her? Did he think that he could just apologize and all would be forgiven, and she'd open her arms to him again? Her body felt numb with the shock of it all, it was just too much to process at once. She folded the note over twice, gripping it tightly in her fist.

Willow was still waiting for the rest of the reprimand, but saw that Buffy's mind was working furiously already, so she took the girl's empty hand and led her up the stairs. "It's all right, we can figure it out in the morning." She left unsaid that even if Spike had turned up on the front steps right now, he couldn't enter the house anyway.

"Yeah," Buffy replied, not really paying attention to her surroundings as she made her way down the hall. When they reached their doors, she squeezed Willow's hand tightly for a moment, then turned away. "Good night, Will."

"Good night, Buffy," Willow replied softly as Buffy's bedroom door closed. Willow entered her own room and closed the door, making her way in the moonlight to the bed.

Why had she lied to Buffy? Why hadn't she told her that she'd spoken with Spike; hell, she hadn't even told the Slayer that he was back in town! For all Buffy knew, he'd left the note for her before leaving. Willow frowned as she slipped out of her clothes, leaving them piled on the floor and crawling under the blankets.

On second thought, Buffy had been upset and distracted enough just by seeing the note, it was probably best that she'd left out the whole "Oh yeah, I talked to him, he's back in town by the way" part of the discussion. Still, the Slayer hadn't grabbed the nearest handy weapon and headed out the door, so Willow guessed that the note had done its part in buying time until she could figure out why exactly Spike had returned, and whether he'd changed as she suspected he had.

She resigned herself to visiting Giles first thing in the morning; at least she knew he would approach the situation logically and help her find a solution. Sighing, she rested her head on the pillow for a moment; then, frowning, reached over the edge of the bed to her discarded clothes and removed her half of the note from her pocket. Lying back down, she studied her name in the glow from the window for a moment, then placed the slip of paper under her pillow and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. She felt soft fur nuzzling against her collarbone and reached out with one hand, stroking Miss Kitty's head as she drifted to sleep...

...her last conscious thoughts were of soft black leather and the coppery smell of blood...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As he moved through the shadows, Spike's thoughts wandered. He pulled a drag from the clove cigarette, licked the sweet spice from his lips and smiled at the taste. It seemed to conjure up some distant memory from the depths of his mind, something that remained obscured when he tried to focus on it. Sighing a cloud of swirling smoke, he slid the lighter back into his tight hip pocket. _Damn, should have never traded away that coat, feel right naked without it... have to do something about that..._ Gazing down at his chest, he realized that he'd never buttoned his shirt before leaving his crypt. _Well, that'd explain the whole 'naked' feeling, you dolt..._ Touching an index finger to the three small scratches near his left nipple, he grinned. _That's what you get for carrying a frightened cat with no shirt on, lucky she didn't cut the damn thing off when she jumped out of your arms!_ Chuckling, he held the cigarette between his lips as he worked the buttons into their respective holes. There, much better.

Walking again, he smiled to himself at the memory of Willow's face as she'd read his note; the utter surprise and fear he'd glimpsed. It'd been a long time since anyone had feared him... well, maybe not.

Cursing himself, he pushed the dark memory further back into his mind, or tried to. Her pleading, her weak struggling, the tears coursing down her cheeks... he'd been so angry at her, her refusal to admit to her friends that she'd been seeking his solace for months, and he'd attempted to drown his sorrows in bourbon, blood, and violence; nothing had eased the burning pain within him.

So finally, in a drunken blood-fueled rage, he'd decided to confront her. When he saw her there, his anger had melted away. She was hurt, tired, exhausted; he could comfort her, make her forget her aches; but she pushed him away, snarling at him. He loved her, just wanted to hold her, ease her pain! Gods, she made his blood boil with passion, didn't she see?! Couldn't she understand? She cried out and pushed him away, falling to the floor in agony. He tried to help her, but she fought him, refusing his every advance. His rage returned, with more fury than ever. Had she no heart? Couldn't she see that though he was dead inside, she had made him feel more alive than ever before, and now she was killing him, sucking away every bit of life he'd felt with her! Oh, to feel her above him, the fragile human body that held the unbreakable essence of the Slayer, being able to hold such life in his hands, feel it coursing through him without even tasting the sweet nectar of her veins, to feel himself surrounded by the fire within her, warming his body and his cold dead heart... and now she couldn't even stand to be touched by him! And then he was atop her, in control for once, and all she could do was struggle and sob; he would make her understand, make her know what it felt like to suffer as he did, make her feel the pain that burned inside him!

"Stop... Spike, please... no... please, stop," she sobbed, her weak arms fluttering against his chest as he thrust into her again and again, but his vision was clouded in red, burning anger and passion and fury. Strangely, he realized now that the thought of killing her, simply tearing her throat and drinking her life, had never occurred to him; no, he had wanted her to suffer as he suffered; death would have been a blessing, a gift. He wanted her to... god, he just wanted her, wanted her to give herself over to him, fully and completely - the one thing that she would never do.

Only when her legs flew up and kicked him across the room did he realize what he'd done. Time seemed to slow as she sobbed, pulling her robe around her, sitting up and curling into a ball; dear God, what had she made him do? No, that wasn't right; he could see now, she had fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed, she didn't want him anymore, it was well and truly over. What had he done?

"Buffy... I..." he whispered, starting toward her.

She cowered against the wall, her eyes glistening with tears. "You see now why I could never love you?" she murmured, turning from him.

He reached to touch her shoulder, and she jerked away violently, the spark returning to her eyes for a split second. "Don't - EVER - touch me again, Spike. Ever. Or I will kill you."

"It's over."

Spike started as he realized that he'd walked halfway across town in a daze of remembrance. He found himself in an alley behind a shop on Main Street, the butt of a dead cigarette still clutched between his fingers. Shaking his head, he tossed it aside, and looked around. Hmm, what luck.

Wrenching the knob on the door open, he stepped into the back of the clothing shop, listening for an alarm. "Nice security system you've got here," he chuckled to himself, "surprised the door wasn't unlocked."

Gazing through the racks of coats, he sighed. It wouldn't be the same, no matter what he chose. That coat had been a trophy, like the scar above his left eye, won in battle against the Slayer. It was irreplaceable; but still, it was his style, he had to have something. He stopped at a shorter, shiny black leather jacket with straight sleeves, no cuffs, and a small collar. "Nah, looks like something the poof would wear, not my style," he chuckled.

On and on he searched through every rack, clothes littered the floor in disarray, and still he hadn't found a thing that would suit him. Moving to the last rack, he sighed; then something caught his eye.

It wasn't like his old leather duster, that was for sure, but still, it had a look about it that attracted him, so he wrestled it from its hanger and pulled it on. It was a soft wool blend, very finely woven, and not black, but a dark charcoal grey. Its weight settled nicely onto his frame, and he moved about in it a bit, throwing punches and such, just to be sure it wouldn't rip to shreds if it saw any action. It was made tougher than it looked, and was cut in the same way as the duster had been, long and billowing about his calves as he walked, and tapering in a bit at the waist, a look he hadn't worn in maybe a hundred years or more. _Yeah, I could definitely get used to this_ , he thought, looking down at himself, picturing what he might look like through someone else's eyes, clad in black jeans, a dark blue buttoned shirt and the charcoal duster. _Nice, very nice_ , he thought, running a hand through his hair, and grimacing at the sand that showered from his fingers. _OK, I still need work, but not so bad._

Lighting up another cigarette, he closed the shop door behind him and started down the alleyway, but soon stopped again. Sighing, he turned back. He reentered the store, reached into his pocket, dropped a handful of crumbled bills onto the counter. "Good god, what a right poof I am. Next thing you know I'll be helping old ladies cross the street and saving damsels in distress. Bloody hell," he muttered as he made his exit again and strode off into the night, not noticing the dark figure lurking in the shadows, chuckling to itself at his behavior.

"Now who's the poof, William?" Angelus growled, and tore anew into the throat of the shopkeeper, whose last breath left him with a whimper as his body fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. (She, being me. All *I* wrote.) I ran outta gas. Hope you enjoyed it though! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that I wrote in summer 2002, this was a work in progress that kind of petered out. But I still really do like the bits that I wrote, it became more of vignettes of characters than an actual story. But that's okay, right? Right.


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